i vomit up butterflies every time i hear the words
they flutter gently on my tongue
and then dry between my teeth
and crumple into a grave
i spit out the wings
but the crawling sensation lingers and yet
they remain unseen.
she
she
she
she
she
she shakes in the spotlights
and they singe into her skin
she
she
she
she wraps her breasts tight within a chrysalis
and she ties back in webs what of her hair she cannot slice off
and she chokes on the nectar she layers down her throat
and she is still her
her
her
her hands tremble frivilously
as they envelop the space below her ribs
in and out
and she
she
she
she
she
this girl
this girl
will never grow the blue wings she desires.
as hard as she
she
she
tries
the efforts will always prove fivilous,
no one will see anything but her
her
her self.
and she/he/it/i am helpless but to vomit again.